Be Careful What You Wish For
by Nals
Summary: I'm sixteen years old. I study at a prestigious university, but I'm struggling after a relatively easy high school life. I don't have a stable set of friends, am always alone, and live in a fantasy world I can never be or exist in. But when a 'random' advertisement pops up and I don't close it, curiosity killed the cat and I'm in for the ride of my life.
1. Chapter 1

_So this is another one of my stupid ideas. :/ Good luck reading it, I'm just doing this because I want to experiment. 3_

* * *

_**Be Careful What You Wish For**_

I sighed as I scrolled down page after page of literature that resulted in my latest search. _Was there even such a thing as a reader insert these days for Cars?_ Because none of that _exists._

An ad popped up as I randomly clicked on the background, and growled in frustration. But before I could hover the pointer onto the close button, the ad loaded.

It wasn't anything flashy or special, but only had a black background and yellow lettering. The note stood out, no doubt, and so did the message.

"_Looking for an escape in life? Click this ad for the ride of your life!_"

If I could flick my ears, I would have. Shaking my head in dismissal, I moved the cursor to the close button.

"_But wait!_" it flashed all of a sudden, startling me. "_There's more._

_"__**The ride will most certainly change your life.**__"_

I blinked. I was sixteen years old, studying for my bachelor's, and living happily with my parents and two dogs. I had the money to go to school everyday, and I was healthy.

But something nagged at me. The human part of me, the one that always thought I wasn't good enough, the one whose superficial thinking rolled with what society would think about me...it told me what I was missing, _all _of it: a stable set of friends, a social life, a better place to live...

Without thinking, question or warning my finger tapped the trackpad of the laptop. The loading version of the cursor flashed at the same time a 'loading' message flashed onto the screen...and suddenly, everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two**_

My head whirled. When I tried to sit up, my back ached. When I groaned, my throat felt rough. When I swallowed, I winced. Every little movement that I made led to another, and my head wouldn't stop whirling.

It wasn't long before a person came to sit beside me, and I winced up at them, most probably looking very pitiful.

"H-hello?"

"Hush, dear, you're hurt," the woman replied, and I only rested my head back, finally noticing the weird ceiling that covered my head.

"Where am I?" I ask groggily.

"You're safe, don't you worry," she said, stroking my hair. "You're not in any trouble."

I blinked, and nodded. I was in too much pain to even say much, and closed my eyes. The next time I woke up though, I found a rather odd-looking white guy hovering over me. I jumped in surprise, shrieking, and our foreheads connected in a rush. We both groaned, rubbing both our faces.

"Ohh, what hit me?"

"Dad gum, missy! That's some head ya got there," the man moaned.

I winced up at him and muttered an apology.

"Oh, good, you're awake," a vaguely familiar woman said at the doorway to the room. "You've been out for days."

"Where am I?" I ask immediately.

"You're in my house, honey," a swingin' accent replied, and I saw a dark woman with graying hair stride in with a tray. "Time for breakfast."

The first lady helped me to sit up so I could have my fill for the morn: eggs, bacon and bread. I smiled at them in thanks, and ate up.

"So, what's your name, honey?" the older woman asked as she stroked my legs. "Mater, you—go find Lightning and go cow tippin' or somethin'!"

I choked on my orange juice. _Mater?_

"Aww," the hillbilly replied, shoulders slumping. "Lightnin's always busy with Mr. Open Wheels."

The shock and panic only kept rising.

"Well, you better get started then. Poor girl's got a big day ahead of her." She glanced at me kindly. "That is, if she can get outta bed."

"Well, get well soon, missy! The town's been worried sick!" With that, Mater loped out of the room.

"So honey," the woman prompted.

"Ah, er…I'm Margo," I replied. "Margarita In—er, Stevenson." I could probably go by any name by now, but there was no way that I could use my own name here. So I used my fantasy one.

"Stevenson…not bad," she replied. "You Mexican-American?"

I blinked, frowning. I didn't sound Mexican. …did I?

"She's not Mexican, Flo," the other, younger girl teased, chuckling. "Margo, this is Flo, and I'm Sally."

My eyes, oddly, did not widen. "Sally…Carrera?" There was no surprise in my tone, no shock. But I was absolutely dumbfounded.

"…yes," she said after a short pause. "How do you—"

I only leapt off the bed, chucking the covers off, excitement making me smile. "You simply have to show me your 2002 996!"

Both were very surprised, the emotion written all over their faces, and I slumped back onto the bed. "Sorry," I replied. "We…don't get to see many Porsches up close back in my home."

"Oh," Sally breathed. "In that case, I'll let you see mine."

I brightened up at that. "Oh, thank you thank you thankyou!" I couldn't thank her enough; it wasn't very often that I got to see a 2000's Carrera.

"When did you want to see it?"

"Now! Ah, I mean, can I see it now?" I squeaked in my excitement.

Amusement made them smile. "Alright. Go get into your clothes and we'll get you out and about."

Within moments I was in my docksides, jeans, black tank and army green button-up(which kinda-sorta looked like a long-sleeved crossover between a girl's shirt and a military one), my black-brown hair tied back. I was only lucky that I had my glasses with me; I wouldn't be able to survive without them (yeah, I had astigmatism), plus a few other things like my dogtags, my watch and my music box. Everything else I would have to replace like my beloved Star Trek wallet.

I stepped outside into the sun, and everything was both familiar and unfamiliar to me: the sight of Luigi's Casa della Tires, the Curios shop…wow. It was like waking up into a dream.

Only, the town didn't have a regular town's busy streets no; this one was rather worse. I don't know why, but I figured I will find out why the commotion wasn't about chitchat or small talk about traffic.

I glanced over to where people were talking the loudest: Flo's V8 Café. "What's over there?" I asked.

"That's my café!" Flo said proudly, and I grinned widely at her.

"There's so much to see!" I gushed.

"No, when you think about it, there's not much; it's a small town," Sally replied with a smile.

I tugged on her arm lightly, pointing like a little girl to the café. "Can I check it out?"

"Go ahead," she nodded, and I darted away in a trot-like run I had come to make a habit. I benefitted from it extremely: I made long strides, it didn't hurt my feet, and it was flowing, just the way I liked it. It only took me a few steps to reach the entrance to the café.

I don't remember the last time I fangirled so much, and to say I screamed was a gross understatement. The people stared at me, and I gave a peace sign with a toothy grin that made me shut my eyes. I wasn't about to see the extent of my embarrassment.

"Who did you see?" Flo grinned at me, patting my shoulder. They must have seen the leap of delight.

"It's-it's Lightning! A-and omigosh it's Francesco!" I stopped dead in my tracks.

Pause. Rewind. Play.

_Francesco Bernoulli was here._

I glanced about to see several trailers in many different colors parked beside the junk shop.

"Sally?" I asked slowly. "What's going on?"

She only smiled sheepishly. "Well, Lightning decided to hold a Radiator Springs Grand Prix here, so…he invited all his friends from the World Grand Prix, and, well…

"…they're all here."

I turned and fanned my face as I leaned against a wall, just somewhere that wasn't glass or where anyone can see me.

"Margo? You okay?" Sally asked worriedly, Flo right behind me.

I could only grin till my cheeks hurt as I gave out breathy laughs, fanning my face.

_This was the best wish ever_.

* * *

Thanks to my two readers so far; I'll see you guys again soon~!


	3. Chapter 3

I awoke to a new day in Flo's guest room, and excitedly headed over to the café for breakfast. I was greeted by the gang and toast.

"'Morning," I gasped as I plopped down onto the plush seat. Everyone murmured the same greeting to me. "So, what happened yesterday while I was out?"

"You missed a game."

I raised my brows. "What did I miss?" I bit on a bit of toast.

"Nothing much."

"So, Margo," Sally started, having joined us, "how're you going to spend your day?"

I stared at her and my brows furrowed. "I…I don't know," I replied. "I mean, I probably have to look for work or something. I've got to pay for my coffee, too."

"You don't have to work," she said smilingly. "You're only sixteen."

I've always been worried about returning favors. This wasn't any different. I was contemplating between arguing or letting myself be pampered. Though I naturally preferred the latter, I wasn't that kind of person. I'd always be the one to compromise.

"Just let me do odd jobs, alright? Just something to pay you guys back or something."

I think there was something in me tone that made her nod in reply. I smiled and continued eating.

"Back to my question: what are you going to do today?"

"I don't know; socialize, I suppose."

"…didn't you wear that yesterday?"

I glanced up to see Carla staring in horror.

"…yeah."

"Girl, you need to go shopping!" she exclaimed, and my eyes bulged.

"A-and who would pay for that?"

* * *

I facepalmed. Of course _she_ would pay for that.

Here I am, standing in front of a store in a mall, with Sally and Carla in there picking out clothes for me, which I'm pretty sure I won't like. I grimaced, and strode past the threshold.

Almost just at that moment, Carla just sprang up, holding a little dress. My eyes widened. It's the cutest little thing I've ever seen, a baby blue number, but I turn it down; I don't like dresses.

"But you have to try it, Margo!" she squeaks. "Please?"

So I'm forced into a dressing room with all of these clothes, most of which that don't even fit, most of which I don't really like, but all of which I'm willing to try on just to be polite. Jeans, skirts, blouses, tees, sleeveless shirts, tubes, bare midriffs, backless, short shorts all of it that they shoved into the room. But guess what happens?

"What!" I say. "What is it you lot wear?" My tone is exasperated and entirely shocked at what I'm holding up. Skimpy (actually, define skimpy) bits of clothing have landed in my hands.

"It's fashion, Margo!"

"This isn't fashion!" I reply, bursting out the door, my face red hot with anger. "This...this will make me look like trash!"

"It makes you look sexy!"

"I'm _not _sexy!"

I sigh, not wanting to make an enemy out of something that she just wants to help in. I put on my pants but don't really bother covering up my arms anymore. I head out into the store and find a comfortable brand. I find a few: Beverly Hills Polo Club, US Polo Association, Jag, Lee, Paddocks', Canadian Club Jeans. I take a few shirts: plaid, nationality shirts, tees, layers, and jeans in a variety of shades and colors. Mixing and matching my haul in the room I come out with myself in an Italy polo shirt from BHPC and dark jeans from Jag. Unfortunately they shake their heads and I slide back in.

For some reason they're like my mum: they never want what I want.

Like my old clothes before, I try picking them out for comfort, efficiency and style. So much cotton would make me sweat bullets, dark colors swallow much sun, but thin clothes would be, well, see-through. I made some sort of compromise between my parents, because my dad doesn't want anything that attracts attention and my mum prefers something girly. My dad thinks not for style but efficiency; my mum the other way around. So my own style of comfortable yet stylish shirts has been with me since I started choosing my own wardrobe, but these days I lean towards the men's department lately. xD

The door opens and closes, and I step in and out so many times I lost count. Eventually I got myself a red and white flannel shirt as an overlay to a light-colored shirt. I stepped out with straight jeans, and it came out as average.

I worked up from there, fitting in cottons and polyesters, khakis and colored jeans. I even slipped in some three quarter pants and thin white shirts because I figured I can get away with it in the US. Eventually we left the teens' department to get myself a bit of underwear.

But—! I mean, come on: who buys a teenager _push-ups, strapless and padded leopard-prints or lace?_

...well, maybe I do now.

"Get this one!"

"No, I want this one!"

"It'll fall if she tries it on!"

"...Nooo I don't need it for display!"

"But you need it for the boys!"

"What the hell Carla!"

"What about these?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Eww. Prints."

"They make you look sexy!"

"I want 'em simple!"

And then to the panties...

"Ehh?! Thongs?!"

"Come on, you'll feel better at night."

Carla, Sally and I fought back and forth, wondering what to get for me. I didn't want strapless because it _will_ fall. Sally didn't want me getting my hands on thickly-padded cups. Carla didn't want the basics. So again I compromised: I got myself two sets that's lacy and black, two basic whites, and two nudes. No strapless; I draw the line at g-strings. Someone just had to notice the nightgowns, and I was forced to get silk numbers. At last we were on our merry way out with a considerable haul, heading home.

But not before Sally and I were stopped at a sports store.

"Margo, you absolutely _have_ to get yourself shorts!" And I was pulled in.

While Carla headed over to the women's section I glanced around lazily, wondering in the back of my head what I was doing in a sports shop.

And then, there it was. Standing right there, in hangers right in the back of the little stock room, was a rack full of perhaps the only shirt that's on my birthday-Christmas wishlist. Spain's 2010 home jersey.

"Yes, ma'am?" a girl interrupted my staring.

"Ah?" I said, startled, "Oh, I was looking at your shirts, and..." I trailed away, turning shy.

"Those shirts?" She frowned. "Those were supposed to be gone already." She started for the closet.

"Wait!" I said, and she turned to me. "...what sizes are available?" She only smiled.

"Margo?"

"I'm in here," I called out from the dressing room. My tone was more distracted than anything else. Why? I was staring at my reflection in the full-body mirror, swiveling my body from side to side and wondering if it's the white one or the red one.

"What are you trying on? I never even gave you something to try on."

I grinned and opened the door. Carla seemed totally shocked.

"I don't know if I'm a medium or a small," I pouted. "The chest's supposed to be some-mid-forties; the waist is some-thirty, thirty-one though. For the medium, I mean."

She frowned thoughtfully. "What do you have on?"

"The medium. My waist's abut thirty-three," I added.

"...have you tried the large?" Cue the lady giving me a large size. What's that? _Is it a men's size?_ I'm just lucky I found the women's rack.

"There," I said as I opened up the door again.

She pursed her lips. "It looks better."

I rolled my eyes. The shoulders are a little big though, but I ask her if I can get it anyway.

"Just so long as you get these!" She holds up a pair of shoes and shorts. I facepalm. Of course it has to have a condition.

I check the foot size, a women's eight-half. _I'll try it on later,_ I thought. I check the shorts size. _An XS._

"...do you have, uh, a medium or large? Can I try that?" I ask the saleslady, and returns a moment later with both sizes.

"Okay," I say in satisfaction. "Medium." I step back out and we pay and we go home. Finally!

But then I wonder where to put _all _that stuff. I didn't want to burden Flo with all of that.

"Why don't you stay at the Cozy Cone?" Sally offered. I had told her why I didn't want to live at Flo and Ramone's. I only grinned at that, and I got an average third floor. Didn't matter to me, just that I was going to live somewhere. Once at the room Carla helped me move in, and at least she had time for girly talk.

Dinner wasn't so much, but at least after that I got to retire early, exhausted from my shopping trip.

* * *

_So, to my reviewers out there, thank you for your support! I will not promise *because I know I can't make it xD* that I will update as early as a week or two though; finals are in three weeks and I need to focus. I love you all! :D_

_To **SeptemberMistAngel**, I didn't think this was that epic, really. xDD_

_To **AnotherRandomFangirl**, I wouldn't be so sure. ;)_

_To **Christine317**, everyone's human. xD_

_To my guest, I'm working on it, don't worry. :) I do apologize for that, but I will update it. I plan to finish that, no matter how lost I am in its plot. xD_

_To my _**_pizzachic_,** _I'm so glad to hear from you again! :D_


	4. Chapter 4

_** Mere: **(Margo) Yes, well I'm not really that kind of girl, Mere. :/ xD_

_** Guest: **I'm glad you think well of my work. :) I can't promise I will update soon (because I have finals in two weeks and I think I'm failing D8) but I will update. 83_

* * *

"What's your favorite color?"

"Favorite flower?"

"Sport?"

"Experience?"

One afternoon (lunchtime, actually xD) I was bombarded with personal questions. I didn't mind though' I liked the attention.

I like the forest to deep—and mine—green, pastel colors and yellow. I liked cream and fink carnations. I love badminton. I once went to a Formula One car snow, and my acceptance to me dream program and school. My favorite gem is my birthstone, topaz and citrine. My star sign is Sagittarius; I was born November 25. I read thrillers such as James Patterson and Alistair MacLean. I've a complete collection of Warriors by Erin Hunter. I love algebra even if I such at it because I'm careless; chemistry and physics because I'm amazed. I want to go to Leipzig, Berlin, Sicily, Genoa, Madrid and Pamplona. I love eagles and cute chicks (the baby chicks mind you). I can tell you more, but it'll take hours.

"Are you single?"

I did a spit-take on my Sprite in surprise. "What?" I whispered in incredulity before everyone else started laughing. "Yeah, wh-wh-wh-wh-what makes you think I'm taken?" I was more weirded out than anything else, not just because of the question, but also because of the one that asked it: Miguel. Of all people, it was the Spaniard. I'd have expected Lightning or Francesco, maybe Rip, but Miguel? Huh. Screw logic, I guess.

There was more talk, then more jokes. …until someone just made me laugh so hard I three my head back…and fell backwards.

"HAHA—WHAT!" I yelled flailing before crashing to the floor.

"Whoa," a few of the guys said, while a few others stood to see what happened. I for one wasn't at all fazed; I never do once I'm 'high'. After a small pause, all I did was laugh all over again. I was still snickering while I was being pulled up and settled back in my seat.

"Are you always this happy?" Lightning chuckled.

"Only when I'm this happy," I replied.

It wasn't long before we all were shooed out of the café, and we went our separate ways. I got a hold of an old iPhone charger, and booted up Lightning's MacBook. (Obviously I asked permission to make my own user.) Flitting between apps and the Internet I was able to import all my music, pictures and videos from my iPod. It's all in the wrist, really.

Eventually I was strolling out in the hot sun, transferring from Lightning's HQ down to the motel with my in-ear headset plugged in. I was nodding my head up and down to the beat I danced to the elevator, saluting Alice at the reception, and going up to the third floor.

Too bad I was listening to One Thing and I was practically living on a floor where the other racers were.

"_So get out, get out, get out of my head_

_And fall into my arms instead_

_I don't, I don't, don't know what it is_

_But I need that one thing"_

I sing like there's no tomorrow. I don't usually sing 1D, but when I do, it's like it's the only direction my singing can go. ;) /shot!

"_So get out, get out, get out of my mind_

_And come on, come into my life"_

I sing into my fist as I shuffle my way to my door, eyes closed like a rock star.

"_I don't, I don't, don't know what it is"_

I open my eyes to find Rip and Miguel walking down the hall, talking. The music has taken over me though, and all I can do is…be stupid. Glancing at them I mindlessly give a show.

"_But I need that one thing"_

My index finger shoots up at them as I lay my other hand over my heart, my head tilted to the side as I glance up from under my lashes.

"_Yeah, you've got that one thing!"_

My fingers curled like any singer that wants emphasis on the song lyrics and I pointed to them both, but with my eyes closed I wasn't really even sure who I was pointing at. I straightened and danced my way into my room. I just hoped, in the back of my brain, that I wasn't sending the wrong message.

"Do-do-doo," I hummed lightly as I sifted through my newly washed clothes in the confines of my room. Arranging in spare hangers, dusting away drawers and slipping bits of clothing in them as I used to do back home.

Home.

I stopped everything and wondered. What's going on back home? Are Mum and Dadi missing me? Will Cesa be missing our idiotic debates together? Is it raining as I speak? I don't know. But then I think of the others and shrug. It's better here.

"Margo?"

I glance over to see Rip's head pop through the door opening, and I pull out one side of my headset.

"Hey Rip," I greet, smiling, and quickly lay a jacket over my underwear, which he luckily hasn't noticed. Or didn't seem to. Whatever. "Anything I can do for you?"

"Er, we're having a game this afternoon, and the rest of the guys were wondering if you'd like to come."

I tilted my head to the side. "Is everyone ready downstairs?"

"Uhh…" He turned to face the hallway. "Is everyone ready?"

"How can everyone _not_ be ready for the games?" I chuckled at the half-angry reply from the obvious accent of a Spaniard. Rip turned to me, face quite apologetic and hurt; I only laughed.

"I'll be right there; just give me a moment to change and pack up, alright?" He nodded, and closed the door. At least I have something to switch into.

Peeking out into the hallway I saw the three friends Rip, Raoul and Miguel bickering about something so pointless (believe me, it's pointless) that I sweatdropped. Me on whose team? Yeesh.

"What the hell?" I whispered and popped back into my room. Even if it looked like I was wondering if they were still there or what they were talking about, I was wondering what they were wearing. Yeah, I'm paranoid like that. Seems that it was just sporty casual.

I stepped out in a white sports shirt and jogging pants. I never leave my trusty beige docksides. I had my iPod, my watch and a spare handkerchief; I thought I would need the last one.

The boys gave me a once-over before Miguel blinked at me and said, "_Germany_? Really?"

I frowned like, 'Bitch please' and waved my hand away dismissively. "Pssh. As if wearing something white never hurt anyone." I smiled to take some of the sting away.

He shrugged and started walking. "Come on," he grumbled, "they must be waiting downstairs."

I rolled my eyes. So much for being friends. When I got down though, the bad mood was forgotten.

"_Ate _Carla!" I squeaked, jumping like an excited little puppy. "Where are we going? What're we gunna do? Huh? Huh?" I was beaming from ear to ear.

She only chuckled. "We're going to the Butte," she only said.

I tilted my head curiously. Wasn't it hot?

Not really. Willy's Butte actually gave a lot of shade at the right time of day, but you gotta be quick. For the oddest reasons some idiot thought the game would be long. Or they just didn't want to play, because we were going to play Frisbee.

"Margo!" Carla had apparently just noticed what I was wearing as we got out of the cars. "What the hell are you wearing?"

I glanced at my outfit. "What? You're the one wearing a sports bra!"

"But your pants!"

"What about my pants?"

"You _need _to wear your shorts!"

"…do I look like I have my shorts right now?"

She snarled. "Francesco!" She whipped around. "We need to go back."

"_Che?_" he asked, frowning. "Why in heaven are we going back?"

"No need to make a big fuss about it, Carla," I chided.

"No, you need to have your shorts on!" she hissed at me. "Else the boys wouldn't notice you," she added in my ear.

I swore my face could've shone a bright red. "Carla!" I gasped.

"You need to wear it," she insisted, teeth gritted in frustration, and I rolled my eyes.

"Alright, alright, no need to get your hair in a frizz," I grumbled, and stalked to the back of the van. Glancing around where nobody could see me I gingerly slid out of my pants, careful not to lay a toe on the red sand. I was folding up my pants as I rounded the van, and Carla was astounded.

"You think I didn't come prepared?" I muttered grouchily, whereas she only grinned. She nudged me with an elbow, and I refused to glance up as I stuck my pants into her bag. "So much for conservative," I mumbled before turning round. I met Rip's shocked gaze, and I facepalmed.

Carla was right there.

"At least," she said. If she was playing matchmaker then I seriously needed to whoop her Brazilian ass; I didn't need a boyfriend right now! I was in the middle of snarling curses under my breath as I designated a bottle of water for myself when she elbowed me again.

"What?" I said, rather irritated by her fuss already. I didn't need another—but I glanced at her anyway. She shook her head with a weird, knowing smile. I glanced at her skeptically, but shrugged and went back to…whatever I was doing. It was only then that I noticed Miguel was right there, hands in his stuff.

"Hello," I manage. He nods at me politely like Shu usually does when he greets me. I nod back, leaning against the leather seats.

"Anybody catch your eye yet?" he asked.

I chuckle with mixed feelings. "Who do you want me to say? Francesco? Lightning?" I shrug.

"Why not? They're…."

"World class? Prestigious? Handsome? A pair of knuckleheads?" I laugh and see the jealousy in his green eyes. "Seriously, I'd rather be friends with them."

"Why?" he asks incredulously.

"Hm?"

"Why not, you know, be a fangirl?"

"Because that's not who I am." I smiled softly. "If you'd notice, I don't really know a _lot_ about celebrities. Instead I know more about tech." I shake my head slightly at myself, glancing at my fingertips. "I'm not a people person."

"But you're so…outgoing."

"Oyeah?" I smile at him. He nods, and I sigh. "Sometimes confidence is a mask, you know? Like you never want people to know what's going on in your head, like you don't want others to know the life you lived before." I glance at the clouds in the sky. "That's what I'm planning to do now. Start a new life while I'm here, even if it means changing my personality."

"But I like you just the way you are."

* * *

_Wow, that escalated quickly. O.O Can I keep you guys hanging for a little while? 7xD_


	5. Chapter 5

I rolled my eyes, smirking like he's joking as I shyly glanced away. "No, you don't."

He wasn't fazed. "I really do. I'm serious."

I shook my head. "You can't be."

"I'm no—"

"I've already had a few jokers I took seriously," I said. "I don't want to have to go through that again." I knew I was kidding myself on this, because honestly, I took his words to heart and was feeling very nervous.

He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

"It's not that I'm rejecting you or anything," I said in consolation, "it's just that…it's too soon. We...we barely know each other." Technically not true; he's being all of the man I created before.

"Wasn't that the point?" he cut in. "That we get to know each other?"

I fidgeted nervously; I'd never done this before. Was it maybe because no other guy had this kind of persistence and seriousness before? I did not know.

His hand closed around my elbow, not only stirring me from my thoughts but also making warmth ripple from where he touched me, exciting every nerve ending from there and making goosebumps appear. I glanced up at him in alarm, heart pounding in my throat. He only smiled at me; I didn't know if I did the same.

"Alright, who knows how to ref volleyball?"

I raised my head like a dog being called by its owner. "I do!" I grinned, and was tossed a whistle. I pouted slightly and self-consciously cleaned the mouthpiece with a piece of tissue.

"Oi, that's clean!" The rest only laughed.

"How do you know how to play ref?" Miguel asked. I hadn't noticed he released me.

I slid the lace over my head and around my neck. "I've watched enough games to." I sighed in relief; the anxiety had left. _Whew!_

I let the others have a few more moments—actually having small talk with Miguel, haha—before blowing the whistle. "A'right! Everyone to the court!" I called out.

"Okay, okay, chill." I only laughed at the Spaniard.

"No rush," I put in with a smile.

He rolled his eyes. "Okay," he breathed.

I frowned a little and spoke before we could do anything (whoa, hey, no green here please ;)). "Aren't you going to change or something?"

"What?"

"I mean, black soaks up a lot of heat," I said. "You're going to be really hot in that in just a few minutes."

"I know," he said calmly.

I only nodded, my lips pursing and face like, 'Alright, your funeral.'

I took a step away when he said, "Which is why"—I stopped in my tracks to face him—"I'm taking it off."

Without pause or further warning he lifted his arms over his head, and, clutching the back of his black polo, pulled the shirt off in one swift movement, shaking his wavy brown locks out once the fabric was off.

I blinked a few times, half-astonished and half-impressed, before turning to face him fully and, hands on my hips, whistled low. "Nice," I said, smirking.

You might be saying, _WHAT? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING NOT FAINTING OR HAVING A NOSEBLEED BECAUSE A SHIRTLESS LATINO IS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU AFSDFJADSLKFASJF_! But the truth is, I've been surrounded by tan people (men, actually /shot), and others with the same—well, maybe not _exactly_ the same—toned body walking shirtless out in the streets as I pass by in a bus or car. So I'm all but immune to this kind of thing.

He grinned. "Like what you see?" he said, and made a provocative pose.

All I could do was laugh, not swoon. Sure, my cheeks are tingling, but a lot of the boys in my block were _always _doing the same exact thing: making provocative poses for fun.

"Wow, Margo," I heard Lightning say, and turned to face her with a big grin.

"What?" I asked, still snickering.

"That's the first time I've ever seen a girl like you _not_ swoon over something like that."

I shrugged. "I would if I could, but I can't." I smirked as I avoided his mock slap.

Okay, look, if you think I look like a Mary Sue over here, then I'm sorry but I'm not. When your family and everybody else is tan, seeing someone white is actually an uncommon sight to see. An even rarer sight is a shirtless white guy with that kind of body, and nearly every girl in my school kept watching the German foreign exchange student we had swim in his trunks. Even one of my best friends and I were reduced to giggles and excited squeals at the sight.

I strode away anyways, towards the net, and ran my raised hand alongside it to make sure it was straight and high enough.

"Ohh, immune, eh?" I turned to see Carla with her hands on her hips.

I smirked at her. "What, and you're not?" I gave an 'ooh' as she tried to get at me, too.

"What is it about today and you all picking on me?" I called out with a WTF face before continuing on my work.

"Why do that?" Raoul asked.

"_Para 'alang daya,_" I said unconsciously.

"…you had me at _para_."

I glanced at Miguel, blinking as I backtracked. "Ah," I said, chuckling in realization. "So there's no cheating," I translated.

"Oh."

I stood next to the makeshift stand (chair, actually) so I could see, and blew the whistle again, calling for them to gather around.

"Okay, so there are hand signals made by a ref. This is in," I called, motioning my palms inward, "and out," I pressed my palms downward. "Substitute," I rolled my fists, "and point to team with a whistle," I directed to a side with an open palm. "Last, service, with a whistle," I made an open-palmed passing gesture. They all nodded, and I called for a coin flip.

Lightning and Francesco were team captains. With Lightning were Sally, Jeff, Raoul and Miguel; Francesco with Nigel, Rip, Lewis and Carla. Max and Shu were linemen, in charge of getting the balls and seeing if it was in, out or on the line if the ball falls too close for me to distinguish.

Looks like Lightning got a lucky strike; his team serves first. Max lightly tossed the ball to Sally. She caught it, and I waited a few seconds before giving the signal to serve. With a smart smack, she sent it flying over the net.

Things went back and forth from there. When the ball stayed in play for more than twenty seconds I started smiling as the tension built and everybody was getting more excited and more nervous with each player not wanting to fail to get the ball. But sometimes everyone's so tense they lose focus in spite of their nervousness, and someone close fails to lob the ball over the net. I call points, and take note of those who scored a point for their team on Francesco's SIII.

Even after about four, five years of watching school volleyball games live at our gym, it still gives me that thrill while watching.

There were misunderstandings though, such as me mistaking if it's in, line or out because I couldn't see, or little fights like, "You were free!" and "You said it was yours!" But that's all part of the game.

And, for as much as I can't, I find myself always returning my gaze to Miguel. You know, there's a difference between just walking and actually playing a sport while shirtless: the latter gives you a real show of what's under the guy's skin. And that's where your 'drooling' idea comes in. Mentally, at least. xD

…why don't I just tell you what I mean?

So the ball is for a few seconds, yes, and tensions build up again? The men are yelling frantically, the competitiveness fueled by testosterone, and they fight to keep the ball in the air as they wait for someone on the other team to fall under the pressure. One thing that rivals Francesco's intense temper is Miguel's instinct to impress. Or, whatever you want to call it, just that he's always trying to always get to the ball as much as he can, in the most stylish way he can think of. Seeing him smash for example: he leaps up, his body curling backwards as he pulls back to strike the ball with such power the connecting slap of his palm to the ball can be heard, and seen through the miss that Lightning makes. I don't see where the ball went, and instead keep my gaze on the Spaniard as he lands, glancing up at me expectantly. That shakes me out of my stupor, and I glance at Max to see it's in. I whistle its Francesco's point, and take note. (Take note of what, his abs? /shot)

Overall the game ends with Francesco and his team winning, and we all take twenty.

"Nice game," I told Francesco, who grinned.

"Of course! No team of Francesco's will lose!" I only rolled my eyes and went around handing water bottles.

"Hey." Miguel glanced up at me, and I flipped a bottle to catch its top, handing the bottom end to him. "Nice game."

He gave a breathy chuckle as he took the water, wresting the cap open and chugging down the cool liquid. I sat by him on the car seat; my legs instantly screamed in relief.

He sighed the same way, capping the bottle. "Thanks."

"Anytime," I replied, then awkward silence. …I hated awkward silences.

"You should try playing sometime," he said suddenly, and I glanced at him. "I'd love to see you play."

I chuckled, glancing down and swinging my legs self-consciously. I heard him do the same thing; he must've noticed I hadn't anything to say.

"Don't you want to be hugged?" he asked out of nowhere. I glanced up at him in alarm and confusion, right up until his arms touched mine. I screamed in protest, excitement and surprise, jumping out of my seat.

"_Hellno!_" I shouted at him, but he was pretty persistent. He leapt to stand up, arms spread welcomingly.

I raised my palms at him, walking the same steps backwards as he did forwards. "Miguel," I said slowly; for a moment the name felt like butter on my tongue, slipping out easily but weirdly. "No."

He only grinned and lunged.

I screamed in excitement, turning to run away at full speed, trying to find a way to duck his arms and turn back to the cars. Running a wide circle would only cause him to cut across diagonally; knowing he was a racing driver meant he was fitter than me and if I turned around and ran to him, I wouldn't be able to duck in time or jump that high or even do a forward roll.

So I just ran. But I wasn't that awesome at running, and soon he caught up with me, straining against him in protest as I struggled to escape his strong hold. I could feel his warmth against mine, his slick skin against mine, and my throat burn as I cried and laughed in glee as I heard his deep laughs and growls in my ear. Soon enough he released me, and we staggered back to the cars. I took up a cold bottle of water myself, and laughed with him as the adrenaline died down.

"Say," he whispered when nobody else was close enough to hear us, "why don't you and I head over to a hotel in Phoenix tonight?"

"Wh-what?" I breathed back in shock. _He was asking me out?_

"D-did you just ask me out?" I stammered, cheeks tingling.

He blinked. "If that's how you see it, then yes."

I swear that my mouth hung open as I stared at him in blank shock. _Nobody's ever asked me out before._ But then again, most teens don't get asked out.

"Sure, I mean…" _No, wait, I don't know what I mean!_

He only grinned at me. "_Bueno_," he said, and slipped into his black polo again (much to my disappointment, haha). With that, Lightning was calling for everyone to get into the cars, and throughout the drive home I was quiet as can be.

"Margo? Cat got your tongue?" Carla asked.

I glanced across her to see Miguel smiling teasingly at me, and I thought my cheeks were on fire at that moment.

"Er, just tired, I guess," I said, laughing apologetically. She only shrugged it off, and left me to decide what I was going to wear tonight.

* * *

_A'right, so I know there are bits of inconsistencies with the tenses in this chapter, and probably previous ones. I'd like to correct that right now before anyone corrects me: __**this is a recalling of events that happened in Margo's life.**__ So she's narrating what happened in those days, and some details of it she may have forgotten, just like anyone else who try to remember whatever experience they have had. :) Thanks so much guys, for reading!_

_...actually, that right there's a spoiler. ._. Whoops xD_


	6. Chapter 6

_Ohh, I didn't impress **Mere** in the last chapter T_T xD Thanks to those that reviewed, here's a chapter for you all before I take a fourteen-week leave! I'm sure the news is already up in my profile description; please look it up!_

* * *

When we got back to Radiator Springs the first thing I did was, well, unpack a little, and head straight to the bath. I scrubbed myself until I was pink, and with a towel around myself, went to the closet to see if I had anything of substance.

…_I had absolutely _nothing _to wear._

For the first time in my life, I was devastated I didn't have a skirt to wear. I groaned in frustration. Why didn't I decide to get that pretty blue dress Carla told me to get that day?

Snarling curses at myself in every language I knew how, I sifted through the clothes. I wanted to be as formal and as casual as possible, not being too much of either side.

I struggled with my clothes for a while, right up until Carla's head popped in through the door.

"Margo?" she asked, probably shocked because I was only in a towel. "What are you do—"

I pulled her in hastily and locked the door in haste. I turned to her then, desperate.

"I've got a date tonight," I whispered, and her face lit up. "I'm not telling who," I hissed back, and she pouted. "Just help me pick out what I can wear!"

She rolled her eyes. "You never picked anything of substance," she said.

"I _know_!" I spat. "But please, I need your help."

She smirked, and this told me I was in for it now.

* * *

I stepped out from behind the closet door, afraid to see myself.

"Oh, come on, you look fine," she encouraged, and I stepped in front of the body mirror.

I thought I looked hideous. My hair was in a crazy updo, and I was wearing a half-open white blouse with the padded black lace bra. I didn't mind my black jeans and black leather dress shoes, making me two inches taller, but what the hell?

"See, you look great."

"What the hell!" I said, and shook my hair out, relieved the updo didn't do much but make my hair fall in waves I've always wished for. I tugged the buttons loose and stripped my shirt. "This isn't what I—"

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. "Margo?"

"_SHET!_" I nearly shrieked in my surprise, despair and anger. "Go answer the door!"

Carla was grinning like a madwoman, finally knowing who my date was. "What? It's not my date."

"What the hell, Carla!" I half-shrieked at her. "Just a minute!" I called out, and muttered curses at the Brazilian, something about her sense of style.

"Okay" was the muffled reply.

"There," I huffed as I tugged on my sleeve. I was finally in a comfortable set of clothes, and my hair tied back with my pockets containing nothing but my handkerchief. My Esprit watch was around my wrist, hidden by white fleece.

She harrumphed, crossing her arms in disappointment.

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks," I said, though begrudgingly. She squeaked and hugged me; at least she left me without much makeup save for concealer and foundation. I've found that eyeshadow makes my eyes smaller.

"You hair looked good before."

I only grumbled at that comment as I got the door, opening it.

I smiled. "Hey."

He nodded once. "Hi."

I expected him to be in something casual, but he was dressed in a formal yellow button-up, black pants and black dress shoes, his dark brown hair combed straight. I was in a white, long-sleeved turtleneck instead, knowing just how cold things could be at night.

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. "Ah, uh..." He produced something from behind his back. "For you."

My smile faded into a small 'o' shape, my head inclined back in surprise. I glanced from the flowers to him and back, and gave a toothy grin.

_He had given me a dozen red carnations._

"Wow," I breathed, taking them from him and tracing a light finger over the petals. "They're…they're beautiful."

He cleared his throat. "Ahem, well, uh, I actually wanted to get roses for you," he started, and I glanced up at him half-worriedly, half-intently, "but I noticed you weren't, you know, uh…_ready _for roses."

I raised my brows instead of frowning. "But these are already a symbol of passion, aren't they? Red carnations?"

He scratched the back of his head. "Well…roses mean more than just carnations." His eyes widened, probably in realization he had probably just said something wrong.

My brows twisted in confusion, until I relaxed, smiling up at him. "I don't…I don't really like roses."

He was surprised. "Really? I mean…really?"

I chuckled at him. "Really." I wrinkled my nose in disdain. "Roses smell weird and wilt so fast."

He laughed at that, and I said, "I'll just put this in there." He nodded, and I stepped back inside.

"Why is Carla in there?" he called in.

I tensed, and loped to his front before anyone could say anything. "No reason!" I squeaked nervously, smiling as calmly as I could. "Why don't we just go?"

"Oh, and you thought you could hide so many secrets from me, huh dear?"

I facepalmed. _That's _what I was afraid of.

"Carla," Miguel turned to her, "_please_ don't tell anyone else."

We were shocked. She must've expected I would have begged her, but it was Miguel, and that shocked me as well.

"O-okay," she said instead, and he sighed.

"Shall we?" he asked as he flashed me an award-winning smile, offering his arm.

I took it gratefully. "Let's go," I chirped, and he led me down the hall and out the door.

If I wasn't perfectly happy before, I was now.

_I'm sorry it's so short! T_T _


End file.
